When I Say Jump
by FrankieSunflower
Summary: Certain individuals (the Avengers, more or less) decide to help out (interfere) because Steve Rogers won't admit that he likes (adores) Phil and Phil won't admit that he fancies (is head over heels in love with) Steve Rogers. Capsicoul ahoy! May become M later on. EDITED
1. Chapter 1

'It was never the war hero glory, or the glamour of being a superhero, or the big macho man look that got him,' Clint drawled into his beer. 'It was how you started out. He's a sucker for heart-warming origin stories. There aren't that many pre-serum Captain Rogers photos out there, but he's probably seen them all. That's why it's you, Cap. You started off brave and honest and patriotic. The big and butch and famous part came second, not first.'

There was something mesmerizingly weird about a drunken SHIELD agent. Steve wondered if this was something that happened every weekend, or if he was witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime event. He wouldn't put it past Clint to go and pulverize the game of darts happening across the room, but the man was clearly more than a couple of Frisbee-throws away from sober.

'What about the cards, and the … commemorative edition replica shield, and the propaganda posters and everything recovered from his apartment? Before people found out he was alive and recovering?'

Clint snorted, and Steve desperately wanted to put a hand out and steady him on his barstool, but held back. There was as much quiet pride in Clint as ever.

'He's gonna kill whoever gave that order. Loki was sent back with Thor only just after they started packing his place up, I don't believe for a minute that they needed to keep us thinking he was dead. You know …' Clint leaned in and Steve could practically see the cloud of beer fumes wafting toward him. 'You know, I'm not dismissing the suspicion that Director Fury deliberately orchestrated a communications issue. There must have been operatives who knew Coulson was alive. It could have been avoided, especially the part where you found out exactly how extensive his collection of Captain America memorabilia really is.'

'I don't think Fury'd do that,' Steve said doubtfully. 'And by the way, in my experience, drunken conversations about superiors tend not to end well.'

'I'm not drunk,' Clint said resentfully. 'And _of course_ he'd do that. It's his passive-aggressive way of getting back at Coulson for confronting Loki alone with only some sass and a destroyer gun.'

Steve didn't know how to respond to that. He couldn't picture Fury as passive-aggressive. As far as he could tell, Fury was pretty straight-forward aggressive.

But the image of Coulson, mortified at Steve's discovery of his collection, yet willing to share it at Steve's request, was distracting. His mind kept drifting back to it throughout the afternoon. Steve had asked Coulson, out of curiosity and, admittedly, some nostalgia, to see some of the first-edition stuff.

That was where he had come from before meeting Clint at the bar. Almost half the day had been spent going through Coulson's collection. Steve had thought it might bring him closer to the people, the time, that he'd lost. But they all … posters, cards, all of it, they all looked so _old_. He felt further from home than ever.

But Steve's mind was wandering back to Coulson, and the anxious twinge that accompanied the vision of his face. He had known the man was in very good health, all things considered. He'd seen him at the hospital. But he had gone to see him at his house anyway, where he had seen the half-unpacked memorabilia.

He caught himself being a little protective. It wasn't really dignified for either of them, but he couldn't help wanting desperately for Coulson to be okay.

Even when he was flicking through a first edition comic, sitting on the floor next to the box, he'd caught himself glancing up at Coulson, seeing his rubbing his shoulder, taking a rest when he thought Steve wasn't watching.

Clint dragged Steve back to the present by ordering another drink.

'Why are you so suddenly fascinated by him, anyway?' Clint asked, resting his elbows on the bar. 'I bet he'd be thrilled to know. Any reason?'

'Huh?'

'Jeez, Steve. You're interested in Coulson. Every time the subject of sport or work comes up, the conversation always circles back to him. You're curious, just talk to him.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'If there's something you want to know, just set a date. He'd clear his schedule for you.'

Steve reached behind his chair to retrieve his jacket. 'I appreciate it. But I was with him today. There's nothing in particular I wanted to know. And whatever you're insinuating, it's completely groundless.'

Clint raised his hands, and his eyebrows. 'I'm insinuating nothing, Cap. But for the record, even if I was, it wasn't meant as an insult. Times have changed.'

'Meaning?'

Clint stood and walked with Steve to the exit. 'I needed a breather anyway,' he said, in response to Steve's questioning glance. 'And what I meant was, if I were to suggest that you might have more than a passing interest in our good agent, that would be all there was to it. No implications about your masculinity. Some guys like other guys. Some girls like other girls. It's generally accepted fact these days that being gay is no more of a mental illness than being ginger, or left-handed, or wearing glasses or having a birthmark.'

The abrupt change in topic had Steve reeling, and he walked side-by-side with Clint in silence for a good few moments.

'So you think … maybe, that's how agent Coulson feels about me?'

'I dunno. Probably not. You're his childhood hero, after all. He sees you a certain way.'

Steve wondered whether or not the stab he felt was disappointment, and carefully filed the thought away under "stop thinking about it".

'But you never know. Here you are, alive, within reach. And with him acting as liaison between the Avengers and SHIELD, there's a very big possibility of working together on a regular basis. Who knows, I guess is all I'm saying.'

_That's not all you're saying_, Steve wanted to accuse, but he couldn't bring himself to voice it. He knew he couldn't technically get drunk, but a light-headedness had taken over and he needed to sit down.

'See you tomorrow,' was all Clint offered, before vanishing into the night. Steve slowed, and decided to continue on foot for a few blocks before retracing his steps and returning to his bike in front of the bar. Normally fresh air helped. But now he just wanted to go back to his place and lie down.

Coulson wouldn't leave his head. Maybe he could check up on the man, make sure he was okay. He was still healing, after all. Just to make sure he wasn't straining himself. Maybe just stop by for a coffee.

No harm in coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

'Consider the seeds of love sown. Sprouting, even,' Clint drawled over his headache, accepting a glass of water. 'Honestly though, I'm wondering if Phil got there first.'

'He wouldn't make a move on the Captain,' Natasha dismissed. 'He wouldn't know where to start. It would take a different kind of daring than the kind he's got, and not a small amount of arrogance, which he hasn't got.'

'I never said _intentionally_,' Clint said. He choked a little on his water.

'How much did you drink?' Natasha asked. 'And what do you mean?'

'Only a little. And I mean that the Captain has an inordinate interest in how Phil's going. Not just how he's healing, but other things. He asked me when Phil's birthday was, for god's sake.'

'His birthday?' Natasha asked doubtfully.

'Yeah. Like, if it was near, he was going to get him a present or get around to signing his cards, as a kind of welcome-home, glad-you're-not-dead thing.'

Natasha mulled this over and patted Clint's back as he choked some more. She trusted him not to throw up on her carpet.

He knew what would happen to him if he did.

'Maybe we should get him something. His birthday is, like, three weeks away,' Clint rasped.

'Like what?'

Clint shrugged heavily, handing her back the empty glass. 'A tie? A Men in Black DVD? Tie Cap up in red ribbon and stuff him in a box? I don't know. We've never bought him anything before, have we?'

Natasha had never thought about that. The idea of getting someone a present was alien, especially if it didn't involve an ulterior motive. Then an idea came.

'I think I know what we could suggest to Cap to give Phil as a present,' she said thoughtfully.

'A kiss-o-gram?'

'No. Something more intimate. And less cheesy. Just a little something to bring them closer.'

Clint squinted at Natasha suspiciously. 'This already feels nefarious.'

'This is for their sake, Clint. Cap likes Phil, that much we know. Phil worships the ground Cap walks on, that we've known for years. But they aren't going to pursue each other without a little nudge in the right direction. If we can just get Cap to give up years of out-dated views on sexuality long enough to throw Phil a bone, then Phil won't dismiss the possibility of developing a relationship with him, and they can work it out from there between themselves. But they'll need …'

'A push?'

Natasha allowed herself a little smile.

'Yeah. A push. And it's our duty, as Phil's fellow agents and the Captain's fellow Avengers, to do we can to aid our co-workers in their pursuit of domestic happiness.'

Clint raised his eyebrows and tried not to let his hesitant incredulity show, but the effect was lost through the hungover haze.


	3. Chapter 3

My sincerest apologies to anyone and everyone who has been keeping an eye on this story. I've been neglecting fanfiction in general lately, and have also been out of a few of my usual fandoms for a little while now. But, in the interests of being a good contributor, here's the next chapter.

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After a week of trying to filter through the endless stream of noise that was the latest 21st century music, Steve Rogers settled on the assumption that he wasn't going to enjoy any of it. If it wasn't too loud, it was too processed, and if it wasn't too processed, it sounded drugged and hazy, and when it didn't sound drugged and hazy it sounded like a tractor eating a helicopter. Fortunately, there was a cornucopia of "vintage" music CDs available.

Steve bought when possible, rather than downloading, largely because iTunes made less sense to him than the rest of the computer did. He was guiltily relieved to learn that technical illiteracy, at least, was something he had in common with some members of the current generation.

Coulson, who was most definitely not electronics-illiterate, was a great help in locating records where possible. It seemed the years he'd spent tracking down collector cards had given him great practice in seeking out limited edition, old, specific, out-of-print things. Steve even managed to get his hands on a record he had owned a copy of in 1942 through Coulson.

Well, "Phil" now. Steve was used to calling some people by their surnames, and on top of that most people, even Stark, generally called Phil "Agent", or secondarily, "Coulson". But there was a little flush of pleasure Steve got from the expression Coulson wore when Captain America called him "Phil". It was rewarding in a way, seeing that face. It was reserved only for him.

But that was dangerous territory. Steve had never felt able to take advantage of the admiration afforded to him by other men, let alone by women. The idea of accidentally using Phil, especially considering what Clint had implied on that one drunken evening, was sickening. He couldn't let himself treat Phil any differently than anyone else. He had to treat him neutrally. He had to treat him as if he was just another agent.

But that, too, was impossible.

Steve walked on eggshells for about a week before crossing paths with Natasha one afternoon, and momentarily giving up his pretence of utter normalcy for a moment. Trying to maintain the pretence would have been worse, he justified to himself. This woman could sniff him out a mile away.

So when Natasha casually brought up the subject of Phil, Steve knew she'd picked up on his dilemma.

'What are you getting him?'

'What?' Steve asked, or said, momentarily put on his guard. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, it is less than a fortnight until his birthday,' Natasha shrugged. 'I just thought, since you two seem to be friends. Unless it's not really your thing. In fact, it will probably be better if you just get him a card or something. He hasn't got a bigl car, and Stark tends to go all out with his gifts, and Clint and I still owe him for all the babysitting he's done for the junior agents to keep them off our tails. You should probably get him a card or something.'

Steve wasn't sure whether he was being baited. Natasha's face was a perfect mask. He shrugged.

'What do you think I should get him? Really?'

Natasha looked over her shoulder at Steve, who had slowed his step slightly. She didn't slow down, instead waiting for him to catch up. 'I just said. He's already going to be getting a few big things, so you shouldn't go all out. Maybe a gift voucher.'

Steve parted ways with Natasha as she went up a lift, presumably to someone's office or maybe to the roof. He wanted to go back to his apartment, but was also sick of sitting in his home by himself in between bouts of activity. He wanted something else to do.

He supposed shopping for a present would be something to do.

The trouble was, he couldn't just go shopping without being hounded by paparazzi. Someone like Tony Stark was utterly used to it, and it didn't seem to faze him. Steve had known what it was like to be surrounded by crowds of people and cameras from his USO days. But every now and again, he would remember what it was like to walk down a street and have no-one look twice at him – for hardly anyone to look _once _at him – and he'd miss it terribly.

It was difficult for him to disguise himself. He'd never had the knack for it. Wigs and fake moustaches were out of the question. Large sunglasses only made him more noticeable. His ray-bans were apparently turning into a major fashion trend. Hooded jackets made him uncomfortable, and quite frankly, he was too tall. He stood out anyway.

And besides, he reminded himself. Everyone else was giving the man something big, according to Natasha, and she was never misinformed. So if he was going to be considerate and give Coulson something that didn't take up space, it would have to make up for itself in thoughtfulness. Maybe something hand-made or hand-written.

Steve grinned to himself as it hit him. He had the perfect idea.

He returned to his apartment, fighting nerves on the way. Why should he have nerves? Yes, it was a personal gift. But it wasn't presumptuous, it didn't cash in on his Captain America status, and maybe it would help to put himself and Coulson on the same level. Less like Captain and Agent, more like fellow man and fellow man. Colleagues. Although, maybe not just that. Clint and Natasha were Coulson's colleagues, and while they had known Coulson for longer, their relationship with him seemed strictly professional. Stark was, in a way, no-one's colleague, but Coulson was the only one who really seemed able to rein him in and in the end, Tony clearly cared about Coulson. He was the one most clearly feeling betrayed when the truth of Coulson's survival was revealed.

Steve didn't just want to be a colleague to Phil. He didn't want to be someone Coulson reined in, or worked with. They were friends. They were close. Weren't they? So Steve _ought_ to get him a personal present.

Steven got inside his apartment, took off his shoes, and went hunting for his sketchbook.


End file.
